Masquerades
by QuirkyDrawings
Summary: Set in 1800s London, Dan and Phil are mere pawns in a giant game. Being polar opposites the two young men have never gotten along, although they do have one thing in common: they are, along with a hundred other young men, trapped in this hellhole together. Will they be able to overcome their differences and fight together, or will they forever remain helpless against greater evil?
1. Chapter 1

**Time period: Late 1800's**

**Setting: London, at The London Institute for Young Gentlemen**

**Characters: Dan Howell, Phil Lester, and some OC's**

**If you're wondering whether or not this will develop into Phan… you'll just have to wait and see :)**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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Blood, everywhere. On his hands, smeared across his face, dripping from his body to pool onto the cold stone. He'd failed, just as the others had; such a disappointment.

I gazed down at my victim with little pity, watching as he struggled to his hands and knees before retching violently. I refrained from rolling my eyes and offered my hand, keeping it steady until he was finished being sick.

He reached out a shaking arm, allowing me to pull him to his feet; yet another sign of weakness. I slung his arm around my shoulders and bore most of his weight, a small feat, as he couldn't have weighed more than 95 pounds. A small boy such as this had no business being in the Aureole.

Aureole, from the Latin word _aureola_, is what one could call a halo. It is the circle of radiance that surrounds the head of a holy being, showing power and greatness. Here, our aureole is nothing more than a circle engraved into the floor. No larger than a 45 foot diameter, it is said to have been cut into the stone by an angel long before light was put into the sun. The angel did this against orders and was sent to hell after committing the crime, but his spirit remained within the stones. Apparently this makes the school blessed.

I, for one, think that it is a load of rubbish.

I heaved the bleeding boy behind me, exiting the room and ignoring the many people who were burning holes into my back with their stares. Once in the corridor I picked up the pace, ignoring his winces and stifled moans. The blood and sweat was still flowing from his injuries, and the all too familiar scent filled my nostrils. I narrowed my eyes, muffling the memories and continuing onwards.

The boy's leg caught on an uneven stone and his drooping eyes snapped open, an unwelcome cry of pain leaving his lips. I only strode faster, my feelings towards this boy growing colder.

First rule of the League: Show no weaknesses.

I turned a final corner, halting in front of another familiar sight. Shifting the boy's weight to one side, I leaned onto the heavy wooden door with my back, creating a large enough crack to swiftly slip through without getting my burden stuck.

"Oh dear. Another one, huh?" I turned to face a homely looking woman standing by the bed, disdainful expression upon her face.

She tutted and stepped forward with her arms raised to gather the male from my arms. I handed him over with no objection, watching as she quickly pulled him to an infirmary bed and lied him down gently. The woman was much stronger than she appeared, as I was well aware. She supported the back of his head as she did so, carefully arranging him so that he would awake as comfortable as possible; he'd fallen unconscious moments before and was now nothing more than dead weight.

I watched with interest as she fetched a basin of water and towels, along with medicine to clean his wounds. I didn't understand how she could do that, be so kind and tender to boys she did not know. Why give out kindness when you were gaining nothing in return?

I stepped a bit closer as she dabbed at his wounds, examining the poor bastard's face.

He was rather young, as I'd suspected. No more than thirteen years of age. His face was tranquil now, most likely grateful for the painless blanket of unconsciousness.

Miss Martha spoke without pausing her work, her voice neutral.

"Was this you?"

I gave a tight nod, knowing she couldn't see me but from my silence she seemed to understand.

"I see. His name?" she asked, still not looking up. I hated it when people did that; if I couldn't see their eyes, I didn't know what thoughts were inhibiting their brains.

"Bradley. I did not ask for his Christian name," I responded, my voice also void of emotion.

"Why?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"You know fully well why, miss."

She sighed, finally setting down her now stained towel and meeting my gaze. It was the color of rust.

"Daniel, did you need to hurt him this much? If my memory serves me correctly, and it does, victory is granted to the one who makes his opponent go down for five seconds. I'm sure that occurred before he got to this point." Her eyes were sharp, but not necessarily judgmental. For that I was grateful.

"Ma'am," I said, remaining respectful though my eyes were fierce. "I am the very best, if you weren't aware. I'm the best at what I do, and what I do isn't exactly pretty. I don't see why I am being reprimanded when every other boy here has the same task as me, and I am simply more thorough than them," I retorted quietly, my tone harsh.

She raised her chin slightly, her gaze softening a bit.

"Dan." I jumped a little at the old nickname, but my gaze did not waver.

"I remember when you were first brought here. You were so small, yet so strong. In fact," she chuckled a little "I even recall you pushing an older boy against a wall when he murmured a curse at you in the corridor. You were shaking your little fist, your eyes blazing; he ran away in fright." She smiled a bit to herself, as if recounting a fond memory.

"You've always been different. You are clever, talented, and handsome," she continued, her smile fading. "You can use these gifts, Daniel. They are very powerful, and no matter what choices you makes you will always turn out on a throne of greatness.

"However, whether you are proud of this greatness you acquire is up to you. How you use these gifts are up to you."

I simply looked at her before smirking a bit, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Yes, it _is _all up to me, is it not? If I wanted to, I could simply leave. I could travel the world, using my powers for good, granting happiness to all and riches to the poor." I began pacing the room slowly, my tone bitingly sarcastic.

"In fact, maybe I'll even fall in love! Yes, that's it. I will find a beautiful woman, one who doesn't mind my scars, and buy her a castle. We'll live contentedly together, blissfully unaware of the harsh world outside." I stopped pacing when I reached a small table near the wall, lightly plucking a flower from the vase set there.

I twirled it slowly in my fingers, examining it as I spoke again. My voice carried just above the crackle of the torches.

"We will have a baby, a bright-eyed little boy. She will dote on him, love him, and I will spoil him with all of the riches in the world. We will be happy." My small smile faded.

"That is, until the League discovers my absence. Driven by rage and the sting of betrayal, they will pop our lovely bubble." I plucked a petal from the bulb and let it go, watching as it floated to the floor.

"They will pound on the doors in the night, waking my beloved and I from our peaceful slumber. 'Oh, oh, my love! Save me!' she will cry." I plucked another petal and it fell to join the other on the ground.

"Yet I will be helpless. By now the circle will have me, in chains and with a blade at my throat. They will hold me back as I watch them drag my wife from the bedroom, clutching our newborn in her arms." Two more petals.

"They will rid of the little one first, slashing its throat quickly. Showing kindness, not making it suffer. Then will be my love, but her death they will draw out. She will die in a matter of hours, not seconds. Piece by piece, as her killers relish in her blood." I smirked bitterly and tore another petal from the flower.

"And all the while she will be screaming my name. 'Daniel, my love! My husband! My savior! Why are they doing this to me? Do something!'. But I will not. She will die slowly, never aware that it was I who had caused this; that it was my own selfishness for leaving which had resulted in her misery." Another petal fell to the floor.

"And once she is dead, they will take her hands; a souvenir, of sorts. But me, I won't die. No, I will be taken here, back to my prison. My own personal hell. I will train once again, be told to forget about her, and I will follow my orders. I will go back to a life of fighting, hurting, and killing. Never again will I question the League's orders, once again nothing more than a pawn in their game." I pulled the last petal from the flower, leaving it naked and bare.

I let it slip through my fingers, watching it fall to the cold stone. My gaze shifted to the woman sitting on the bed. Her eyes sorrowful, but not tearful. She remained frozen and didn't open her mouth to contradict me, for she knew that my words were true. I looked down for a moment then raised my head again to speak.

"Miss, there is no escaping. There is no changing my fate. I will forever be their pride and joy, my heart heavy and my face never betraying my thoughts." I stepped a bit closer, my voice softening. "I know you care for me, and I you. You are the closest thing I've ever known to a mother."

"But my future is determined. The League would like me to dismantle the government, bring this country to its knees, and so I shall. No matter the number of lives I take, I will do it. Along with all of the other boys I've fought against and beside for years. We are their elites. And we are their weapons."

My speech done, I stood for a moment more in her stare before turning to go. Her voice stopped me at the door and I paused, my hand on the handle.

"Love, you are right. There is no way out." My hand tightened and my knuckles turned white.

"That was never my suggestion. I merely said that it was up to you how you used your gifts. Who you fight for, and what you fight with, is completely your decision."

My eyes widened as I realized her meaning.

"P…preposterous! You're suggesting… mutiny?" I breathed, not daring say it any louder.

She didn't respond, and I turned slightly to see that she had turned her attention back to the unconscious boy, using the rag to finish wiping his wounds clean. I tightened my eyes and slipped out of the room soundlessly, being careful not to catch my coattail in the door.

_What… what does she mean? Use my abilities to… fight back? Fight against the League? But surely I would be killed! Unless of course… if it were not just me. Perhaps I'm not the only one who feels this way…No, _I shook my head, ridding my mind of the traitorous thoughts. _No, it wouldn't work. To fight back is to beg for death._

I sighed and threw the thoughts away into the back of my mind, locking them into a vault and throwing away the key.

Lost in my mind, I didn't notice that someone was walking towards me until I quite literally stumbled upon them. I quickly righted myself and took a step back, looking up sharply only to make a noise of disgust when I saw whom it was.

"Mr. Howell," he said curtly, his stance stiff.

"Mr. Lester," I nodded, forcing myself to look into his piercing blue eyes.

"How is your training going? Killed any more children?" he asked, his tone mild.

"No more than you have," I countered. There was a moment of silence, when he spoke up again.

"I don't mean to be rude, but you _are _in my way. If you don't mind, I would like you to kindly move so that I can get past."

I narrowed my eyes slightly at this git. Since the day we'd met, we instantly had strong feelings towards one another. At first I hadn't been able to tell if they were good or bad, but after awhile I'd concluded that they were negative. We were polar opposites; I was night, he was day.

"My apologies. Kindly forgive me." My voice was tight. He scrutinized my face a moment more with his annoyingly bright eyes, before emitting a small sigh and brushing past.

I turned my head slightly and watched him go out of the corner of my eye. He was by far my closest competitor in every field. Fighting, our school studies, even for suitors.

He'd been approached nearly as many times as I had by females, but of course he had to decline their advances. Romances here were strictly forbidden, despite our tri-annual masquerades with the neighboring female boarding school. I suppose it was all part of the charade to keep up our appearance as an average gentleman's school.

Suddenly the bell in the tower chimed, it's note resonating throughout the school. It signaled the end of our first class, which meant I was now supposed to go to… English studies. Ugh, so dull.

I sighed and quickly strode through the winding corridors to the now empty Aureole room, fetching my sack and jogging to the English room.

Funny how normal and mundane this class was, considering everything that truly went on in this hellhole.

_Well, at least it's a break from the blood._ I shuddered, remembering the young face of my latest opponent. I could still feel his dried blood caked under my fingernails, though there was nothing that could be done about it now.

I finally located the correct door and entered the classroom just in time, getting off with a warning glare from the master rather than a Punishment.

Silently I slipped into my seat, paying no mind to what the teacher was saying as I pulled out a roll of parchment and my quill. I smoothed the parchment down on the wooden desk and held my quill poised in a ready position above it, giving off the appearance that I was actually listening.

As the master's voice droned on I subtly shifted my gaze to the window, fixated on the small patch of blue sky visible.

I cursed its gay, happy color. It was beautiful and hopeful, drawing you outside and telling you that someday you may be happy enough to enjoy its color too. It was all a lie though, false hope given to those foolish enough to believe it.

I turned my stare away from the pane of glass and accidentally let it get caught on the face of Philip Lester, who was sitting a bit in front of me. He was doing the same that I been, looking up into the sky in all of its enormous beauty with his head turned slightly so that I could see most of his face.

And in his eyes, so different from my own, was harbored a flicker of something. Not dead and unmoving, as my eyes were, but… alive.

I rolled my eyes and tore my gaze from his peaceful face; yet another reason to dislike the man. He had something I didn't have.

He had hope.

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**I'm really sorry if that was confusing, but I hope that you decide to stick with me and read the upcoming chapters, as they sort of bring the different aspects together.**

**Feel free to review and follow if you liked it, and if you didn't I'm terribly sorry for wasting your time.**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Dan's POV**

We were all lined up around the Aureole, shoulder to shoulder. Straight backs, expressionless faces, solemn silence.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The Superior's steps echoed throughout the stone room harshly, the sound reaching the high-beamed ceilings and resonating back. On the walls were hung hundreds upon hundreds of weapons, the spaces between them so scarce that it gave off the impression that the walls were made completely of metal.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

His steps came to a halt in the middle of the circle. His thin physique was completely still, his shoulders set back as his crude black eyes scanned over his men. The Superior had the palest blond hair I'd ever seen, almost silver, which was swept back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He opened his mouth to speak and I refrained from wincing, averting my gaze slightly from his face.

"Our time is drawing near. In a mere years time I plan to be dancing in our victory; watching the king fall on his knees." _And choking on his blood._

"No longer will we be ignored. No longer will we be tossed aside. No longer," his ugly eyes grew sharp "will we be forgotten."

"We _shall _free this country, and with it the spirit of Regnum Dei that was beaten and buried long ago by the king and his legion.

"We are the only hope this great kingdom has for survival, men. You will not let it down." He said this last line with conviction, making sure that his double meaning was understood by all. Of course we would not let it down, for if we did, the Superior would not be happy. And what, you may ask, happens when the Superior is unhappy? Well, I suppose you could ask Three-fingered Thomas for the answer to that one.

"The order for today!" he continued, and this time I could not hold back a small wince. Thankfully he didn't notice.

For as long as I'd known him, the Superior had a scar. It was large and ugly, swooping from his left temple to the right-hand side of his jaw. It ran straight through his lips, and whenever he spoke his mouth pulled and stretched painfully, making for a rather ghastly sight. No one had ever questioned him about it, and nobody ever would for fear of angering him.

"Kendall and Brown. Jackson and Schumacher. Howell and Liguori…" I tuned out his voice as he read down his list, pairing people up for combat. I sighed a bit, a small part inside of me deflating. Pj Liguori was a good kid, one of the few guys that I actually got along with. I had no desire to send him to the infirmary, but then, I should have been used to carrying out unpleasant deeds by now.

The Superior blew his whistle, a high keening sound, and the first two men stepped forward into the Aureole as he stepped out.

"Today we will be practicing with weapons. Choose carefully," he instructed, then stepped back until he was lost in the shadows of the dimly lit room.

The larger of the two men grabbed a sort of mace, his muscles flexing as he made his way back to the middle of the ring. The second one took more time, his hazel eyes scanning the walls carefully before selecting a knife, only as long as half of his forearm.

The first man smirked, clearly unimpressed. The one with the swooping hair merely looked at him as he joined him in the Aureole, and I already had a hunch that he would be claimed victor. His build was more lean, quick and nimble while the other man was pure brawn; it would slow him down.

Suddenly the man with the knife lashed out quick as lightning, giving his opponent a good gash in the side before jumping back to dodge the mace hurtling towards his head. The large man took a step forward just as the other leaped towards him, sliding on his side and bringing the blade across his upper thigh. He jumped up again, the mace missing him by inches.

This dance went on quite the same for a while, the hazel-eyed boy using his smaller figure to out-do his opponent whilst the other swung his weapon frantically, never getting in a good hit.

Finally, the smaller man—I think it was Kendall—snuck up behind him and used the dull end of his knife to hit his temple, hard. The brawny man crumpled as his face went slack, and the other boy looked away before he even hit the ground. After hanging his knife back in its rightful place, he stepped back into line without so much as glancing at the unconscious man lying in the middle of the floor.

Quickly two other men, dressed in the same all-black that they were, hopped into the Aureole and grabbed him by his legs and arms, dragging him to the infirmary I presume.

The next fight went on quite the same, with one victor and one loser. However, this victor was much more brutal in his attacks. He stabbed straight forward rather than going for shallow cuts, as if he were out for a kill. He inflicted wound after wound upon the other man, and even I thought it was a bit harsh when he twisted the knife into his foe's thigh.

The other man went down instantly, making for a quick fight. I watched without expression as the light fled from the weak one's eyes, his thin hands slowing down in their attempts to dislodge the metal blade.

With a smirk of victory, his aggressor carefully placed one foot on his side and pushed, making the limp body roll so that it lay face down; an unnecessary action done only to make the boy look weaker. The victor sauntered back to his place in line with a small smile upon his lips.

The same two men who had dragged out the first body returned, roughly hoisting this boy into their arms and taking him from the room.

Unfazed by any of this, my name was called followed by Liguori's, and I strode forward until I was in the middle of the Aureole facing another young man. We shook hands before making way over to a wall of weapons, both subtly sizing the other up as we selected a defense.

I chose a sword and he immediately did the same, making eye contact briefly before making his way back to the ring.

A moment later we were face to face, each awaiting the other's first move. He decided to strike first, lashing out at my midsection with a flick of his wrist; I easily deflected.

He swung again and again, with my blade there to stop his every time. I began pushing back, leaving marks of my own rather than just playing defense. My sword became a blur, me giving little effort while he gasped for breath. With a flash of my blade he was disarmed, his weapon skidding over the floor a good 25 feet away from him.

We were still now, my brown eyes staring into bright green ones, a sword poised inches from his throat that I regret to say was held by me.

I knew that rules, and so did he. The victor was proclaimed a victor once his opponent was left down for a minimum of 5 seconds.

I was used to it, the killing and hurting, so it didn't take much thought from me before I used the hilt of my sword to knock him unconscious.

His eyes, so light and clever, closed as he fell to the floor. I stood above his body and did not dare move, for fear I would crumple to the ground alongside him. I would not usually be affected by my fights so much as this, but this time had been different.

This time, in the split second before I'd ended the fight, he gave me a gift; one that I have never received with so much sheer honesty and sincerity.

He smiled.

It was not cruel, as the previous victor's had been, but rather full of understanding. We had both known what the outcome of this fight would be; he had come into it with full knowledge that he would not come out all right. And yet, he smiled. He understood.

He forgave me.

You see, forgiveness is not something that one encounters often in this place. I have always been the best at slaying, at killing. There isn't one man in this room that I have not defeated, and I hate that. I hate that I am so good at hurting people, and that it comes so naturally and easily to me. As if I were born for this.

The thought sickened me.

My head snapped back to attention when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I instinctively jerked away from the touch. I turned to see a young man with hair the shade of ink and eyes the color of the sky peering at me, but instead of feeling the usual revulsion I do when I encounter Mr. Lester, I felt… nothing. I was numb, and strong.

With a straight back and a dull mind, I reclaimed my place among the others and watched Lester carefully gather Liguori into his arms, waving off the two men who normally took care of the bodies.

He would get in trouble for this, but it didn't seem as if he cared. He cradled the other boy like a baby, making sure his head was supported before walking carefully through the large oak doors, doing the best he could not to jostle him.

I watched this small exchange with little interest, feeling some of the old hate I had for Lester rise up inside of my gut again. Looked like the haze was wearing off.

I stood for what felt like years, watching as body after body fell to the floor, each battle leaving one man to war off death in the hospital.

At last, the Superior's keening whistle sounded and we were dismissed, walking silently and orderly through the doors.

Everyone filed through the towering archway and into the courtyard to eat their midday meal; everyone, that is, but me.

I did not know where my feet were leading me, but I let them carry me along until they decided to stop, and I found myself once again facing the infirmary doors.

Why was I here? I had no business here. I felt like there was something behind those doors though, something that I needed. But what?

I was in no mood to face Miss Martha's disapproving stare, nor was I in the mood for her to pretend that she was okay with all that I did.

Against my better judgment I pushed through, deciding that my mind would not be put to rest until I succumbed to this queer pull that was beckoning me inside.

What I saw wasn't exactly pleasing.

There was Liguori, laying on one of the beds with a bandage wrapped around his head; it was soaked through with blood.

My jaw clenched as I realized that I had done this, that the reason this man was laying in an awful stench on a dirty mattress was because of me. Sitting beside him was Lester.

They hadn't noticed my presence yet, and after a quick scan of the room I determined that Miss Martha wasn't there for the time being. Swiftly and silently I slipped into the shadows, a strange curiosity taking ahold of me as I watched the two men.

Phil had a pale hand lain softly on the sleeping boy's head, slowly stroking the mess of curls. His features were tired, his eyes large and clear as he gazed sadly into the face of his friend. He sat there for at least 25 minutes, endlessly petting Liguori's hair soothingly.

I swallowed the dislike rising up inside of me, fighting back a grimace.

This is why I loathed Lester as much as I did. He was so… _good. _Even in this place of killing, he remained good at heart. He refused to turn into the cold, robotic machine that everyone else had become… that I had become. He was stronger, more pure than I; and for that, I hated him.

At last the sleeping man awoke, his eyes fluttering slightly before they opened and blinking a few times to clear away the blurriness. He seemed a little surprised when he was met with the sight of Lester's face, but pleasantly so. He smiled a bit before speaking.

"You didn't have to stay with me, Phil. You've probably missed lunch by now," he informed him, but looking pleased nevertheless. Lester—Phil, I guess his friends called him—shrugged.

"S'no big deal, I wasn't hungry anyway. How are you feeling?" Phil looked down at his friend with worried eyes, his hand never faulting against Liguori's head.

"I'm fine," Liguori responded, rolling his eyes a bit. "Never been better, actually." It was obviously a lie, judging from the boy's pallid complexion and slightly labored breathing, but Phil didn't fight him on it.

"Alright," he sighed. "But before you make me leave, I thought you should know that we have an audience."

It took me a moment to realize that he meant me. My cheeks reddened slightly and I froze, debating whether or not to remain in the shadows or make myself announced. _Well, too late now I guess._

I stepped from my hiding place with my chin up, meeting both of their gazes evenly.

"I apologize for my eavesdropping," I said formally, my posture stiff. I was not used to apologies. "I have no excuse."

The two boys looked at me, but neither was angry. They only looked curious and a bit confused. It was Liguori who spoke up first.

"That's alright," he said, and a slightly awkward silence followed until he spoke again. "Did… erm, did you need something?"

It struck me then that I did need something, and that it was the reason why I'd been drawn here in the first place.

"Actually, yes." I stepped a bit closer until I was a more comfortable distance from them. "I… uh—I wanted to say…. sorry. For, you know." I gestured to my head and he touched his own, feeling the gauze wrapped there.

"Oh." He was surprised. "Uh, that's okay. I mean, you had to."

I nodded, breathing out a small sigh of relief. For some reason I really didn't want him to think worse of me than he probably already did, being friends with Lester and all.

Just then the door opened and a short, busty woman came through bearing what looked like fresh bandages.

"Oh," she said, catching sight of our little trio. "You're awake. Good." She made a motion to Lester signaling for him to move, and took his place next to Liguori. She began unwrapping the dirty bandages from around his head, stopping every once in a while to make sure that Liguori wasn't in too much pain.

"You boys can go, I'll be keeping this one here over night," she said without looking up from her work. Lester looked reluctant, but knew that it was unwise to argue with Miss Martha. He sighed.

"Alright then. Bye Peej, I hope you feel better soon. I'll come check on you tomorrow," he told Liguori, his innocent blue eyes peering over the nurse's shoulder at his friend.

Liguori gave a weak nod, gritting his teeth in pain as Miss Martha attempted to pull away the bandages that had stuck to his wound with dried blood.

Phil threw one last helpless look at him before turning to go, me following behind him. We both exited the doors, and just as I turned to walk away his voice stopped me.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his eyes cast a bit down. I turned and raised an eyebrow, utterly confused.

"For?" I questioned.

"For apologizing to Pj." His eyes rose to meet mine, clear and bright. "He respects you, and I know that your apology for hurting him meant a lot to him."

I stood still for a moment, not quite knowing how to respond. Apparently I didn't have to.

"Well, I'm heading back to my dorm. Maybe I'll see you around." And with that he turned and left, leaving me even more confused.

Why was he being so civil? We hated each other. We always had, and we always would.

Maybe he was simply pretending? As the saying goes, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

I thought of his eyes though, when he'd thanked me and while he was taking care of Pj. They'd been so truthful, and sincere. Maybe…

No. I shook my head to clear away the thoughts. We were enemies, and this little act he was putting on wasn't fooling me.

He wasn't going to fool me.

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**~QuirkyDrawings**


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